Quest for Comprehension
by zapid
Summary: Illyria wants to understand Fred's feelings of love for Wesley. Wesley wants nothing more than to forget. But will a series of accidents and Spike's crazy antics push the two together?
1. Chapter One

Quest for Comprehension

Chapter One

Hey, all. This is my first fic in the Angel universe. Hopefully I didn't do too bad a job at it. This fic is set during the episode that Illyria takes Fred's form in the presence of Fred's family. It is slightly AU, so please forgive any minor storyline flaws. The story is rated T for now, but I might bump the rating up depending on where it goes. I am aware that this chapter is pretty short, but it's really more of a prologue. Also, the tone of this chapter is a lot darker than the tone of the next few chapters. There's even some humor coming! The next chapter should be up within a week or so. Please leave a review when you are finished reading, and feel free to make any suggestions. They will all be much appreciated! And now, on with the story.

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The experience with the mortal's parents had been fascinating, and yet disgusting at the same time. These humans made no effort to conceal their thoughts or emotions-primordial, really. What was fascinating was the way in which the shell's body reacted to these other people. Illyria could feel warmth when close to the parents of the shell. Illyria experienced a similar warmth when near the killer of her Qwa'ha Xahn, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Similar, but very different. 

Yes, Wesley. The one whose grief hung over him like a constant, dreary fog. He was clouded, smothered by his misery. He was the most fascinating of all. He had been in love with the shell; that much she knew, but Illyria was slowly beginning to pick up many of the shell's memories, and, in doing so, realized that the shell, Fred, had loved the stupid mortal back. The mortal who couldn't even control his own emotions, let them beat him down like a slave driver. She had loved him back.

Love. For all of the shell's descriptions, reasons, and explanations of human life, love was one thing that Fred had failed to comprehend. Of course, Illyria, though currently occupying Fred's former body, was not Fred, and would therefore be perfectly able to come up with a suitable explanation for herself. Wesley would help. Yes, Illyria could feel love at work while close to the shell's parents, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. Illyria knew that only with Wesley's help would she be able to comprehend this concept of love. And he would help, whether he wanted to or not.

Illyria wasn't fond of the idea that she needed help with anything, even something as trivial and meaningless as learning to comprehend the workings of a creature as simple as a human. Illyria decided that perhaps she didn't need the help, after all; she simply wished it. It would make things easier, and, as some part of the shell that was still foreign to her indicated, a great deal more fun.

Wesley was furious that Illyria had assumed the shell's previous form. Why though, Illyria was not quite sure, and Wesley had thoroughly failed at providing any sort of satisfactory explanation. No matter. His eyes revealed everything. In a split second Wesley's eyes betrayed all that he was thinking and experiencing. Sadness, anger, grief, hunger, want, need. Even love. All the things that Illyria was determined to understand for herself.

Illyria could see that Wesley wanted her. Or at least, wanted what had once been, but Illyria was as close as it comes to the real thing. She would use that to her advantage. She would use him. Take what she wanted, and cast him away. She was sure of it.

-

Wesley curled his hand into a ball and sent it flying into the wall, not even wincing at the sharp pain and blood that resulted. He allowed the pain to overcome him, making a desperate attempt to block out the other pain, the deeper pain. Why did Illyria have to take Fred's form? Why? What was she looking for? Surely there was another way to obtain it. In the first two seconds of seeing Illyria in that form, all of his feelings for Fred he had tried so hard to bury came rampaging back.

How could he help it? Wesley knew that Illyria wasn't Fred; his mind served as a constant reminder to that fact almost every second. Other parts of him, however, weren't so easily convinced. Other parts of him _wanted_ to believe.

No. He must not allow himself to succumb to those parts of him. Sure, it would be easy, surrendering to the lie, pretending. It would ease him for the time being. But not forever. Never forever. Forever was something he had wanted with Fred; it no longer existed. Forever was something that he had once believed in, but not anymore. Maybe if he hadn't believed, he wouldn't be hurting. But he couldn't help it.

He had managed to contain his emotions while in the presence of Fred's parents. Perhaps it was a good idea to conceal the truth from them. Maybe it was better to let them keep believing in the lie, as Wesley wished that he could. He had managed to go along, to pretend, but now, in the confines of his room, his emotions flowed freely through him, stabbing him, piercing him, torturing him, making him just want to die.

There wasn't a lot left to convince Wesley to stay alive. He had nothing left to live for, really. His chance, his one chance at true happiness had been snatched away. Gone forever. Even if there was another chance for him to be happy... No. Wesley found that he didn't even want it. He didn't want there to be another way, another one. He wouldn't allow himself to be happy, even if he had the chance. So why go on living? Maybe it was because he really didn't have anything to die for either. It wasn't as though Fred would be waiting for him. Dying wasn't even worth the effort. But neither was living. Passive suicide. There's a thought. But even so, a part of him felt the need to live. That most basic, human, instinctual part that dwells at the bottom of everybody.

Maybe he continued to live to protect those around him. Maybe some subconscious part of him believed that somebody out there still cared about him, that somebody out there would grieve over his death. If he could prevent somebody from going through that, he would. Not that anybody would actually mourn his death, but it was a nice thought.

For now, Wesley would just curl under the covers of his bed and try to forget. Maybe he would have a drink to help him become more at ease. Then again, maybe he would just cry, cry until he couldn't anymore, until the lull of sleep finally pulled him under, only to dream of what no longer was.

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So, what did you think? Let me know, please. And feel free to make any suggestions! Thanks! Until next time... 


	2. Chapter Two

**Well, it's finally here!!! Chapter two is now completed. I decided not to raise the rating yet, but it still might happen, so keep that in mind. Thanks to those who provided feedback for the first chapter; I appreciate it! I hope everybody enjoys this next chapter.**

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Illyria was absolutely furious. After the incident with Fred's parents, Wesley had been refusing to talk to her. And she needed him to be cooperative if she was to carry out her plan. It wasn't as though she had truly done something wrong; surely this girl's parents did not wish to hear the tale of Winifred Burkle's fateful end. Although admittedly sparing the feelings of two insignificant mortals had not been Illyria's true purpose. Still, she had only wanted to experiment. But now her test subject was avoiding all contact.

Out of nowhere Illyria sensed a fist flying at her head. She, of course, ducked out of the way and spun around to see the blond vampire standing there with a smug grim on his face.

"Caught you off-guard, eh, Blue?"

Illyria's eyes narrowed dangerously. This insolent creature dared question her abilities. Even with her reduction in power, she was still the most powerful entity he had ever seen. Still, insolent as he was, she rather enjoyed defeating him in fights very much.

She straightened very quickly and without warning threw a series of punches at Spike before executing a low kick that swept him off his feet, causing him to land on his ass rather painfully.

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy!" Illyria was fighting with a particular level of energy and viciousness. "You don't have to be so touchy."

"Surely you are not so easily defeated, vampire," Illyria contested. "Or do you no longer wish to fight me?"

Spike jumped back to his feet and positioned himself in a fighting stance. "Love, I am nowhere near finished."

"Very well."

The two began exchanging attacks, and Spike found himself slowly backing down the hall resulting from Illyria's speed. This would not do at all.

A harried-looking employee was quickly approaching the fight with a briefcase in one hand and a coffee in the other. Spike took a quick second to calculate, allowing Illyria to land a particularly nasty punch in the meantime. Shouting an apology to the startled worker, Spike swiped the briefcase out of his hand and continued swinging it until it made contact with Illyria's head.

Had Spike looked back, he might have noticed that the source of his newest weapon was now on the floor, covered in coffee, and looking dangerously close to tears. But Spike was not looking at him; he was looking at her. Illyria looked absolutely shell-shocked. She couldn't believe the vampire had gained the upper-hand, even for a second. Illyria realized with a start that it had not occurred to her that, for the first time, the two were not confined to an empty room. Of course environment would come into play. Instead of blaming the lapse of judgement on herself, Illyria lamed this, too, on Wesley. His behavior was driving her to distraction, causing her slight, very slight error.

Never one to be outdone, Illyria resumed her former attacks with ferocity. Spike, who was still frozen, staring at Illyria with amusement at her expression, was caught more than a little off-guard when the fight unexpectedly resumed. All of a sudden, various objects as well as fists were flying past his agile form. It was all he could do to stay on his feet.

As the two maneuvered down the hall, Spike briefly noted a "Caution: Floor Wet" sign hurtling past his head. He cocked an eyebrow before ducking to avoid a flying computer. He spun around and chucked a cushion from a sofa at Illyria before tearing down the hallway. He viewed a bucket on the floor and picked it up so he could execute the same move that he had with the briefcase. He noted that it felt rather heavy as it flew toward Illyria. So heavy that it startled him, and the bucket flew out of his grip. It sailed through the air before hitting Illyria square in the head.

Illyria was knocked right off her feet and onto the floor where she quickly realized that she was now a wet, soapy mess. The bucket which Spike had so thoughtfully chucked at her was the water used to clean the floors. And it was cold!

Illyria was so maddened that her reflexes increased tenfold, and Spike was suddenly sailing through the air until he came to an abrupt stop when he hit a wall. The wall seemed to take more damage than Spike, though, as he was only dazed, while the wall was practically beyond repair.

Spike stood up, shook his head, and did a double take at the state of Illyria. She looked slightly like a drowned rat, that much was true, but at the same time she looked really...hot. The skintight suit did nothing to camouflage her tight nipples, hardened at the sensation of the freezing cold water. Spike opened his mouth to make some comment or other, but Wesley chose that exact moment in time to come out and see what the hell all the commotion was about.

At one look at Illyria Wesley forgot his silent treatment before questioning what the hell had happened. Illyria swept over to him, grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her left breast.

"Spike made me wet."

Spike nearly choked at the unintentional double-entendre, but he was nowhere near as surprised as Wesley, who remained frozen for one intangible second before jumping away from Illyria as though she had given him a rather unpleasant shock. And perhaps she had.

Wesley could not deny that Illyria was attractive, even in his never-ending depression that fact was blatantly obvious. How could she not be? When she had stolen Fred's body? And being pressed so intimately to that so-familiar body reminded him far too much of the nights the two never had.

"You should be more careful," Wesley said carefully, before making his retreat.

Illyria let a sound of frustration pour from her lips before storming away from the idiotic vampire and his childish antics. What could have possessed him to do such an idiotic thing? Well, at least she had won the fight.

Angel appeared behind Spike so quickly that it eerily imitated some of Spike's entrances during his incorporeal stage. The previous scene had not gone unnoticed by the head of the company. Spike turned to face him, and Angel raised his eyebrows in question.

"Were you two fighting?"

"Yeah."

"She win again?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"She's a lot to handle, but she's hot."

"What?" exclaimed Angel. "What about Buffy?"

"What about Buffy?" asked Spike with a smug look on his face.

"Well, you...she...I...uh..." Angel's words faltered off into nothingness before he shook his head in disbelief and headed back toward his office.

Spike followed him only a few feet behind, now determined to thoroughly annoy Angel for the rest of the afternoon, since Illyria was clearly through playing. Spike couldn't wait to see the exasperated expressions Angel often exhibited in his presence. This would be fun.

---

Illyria was extremely upset at this latest turn of events. Though she was no longer wet, the feeling seemed to linger, Wesley seemed even more intent on avoiding her, and placing Wesley's hand on her breast had evoked a strange feeling that was a combination of carnal human need as well as something else.

The look in the man's eyes had been almost too much to bear. It saddened Illyria, though she was not sure why. She had never held any sympathy for the creatures of feelings that walked the earth in this time. But Wesley's look was painful to behold. A small part of her wanted to leave the man alone, to let him suffer in peace and cause him no more pain.

But that part was small, and it was easily ignorable. Illyria would certainly not quit her pursuits after one small incidence. After all, she had questions that needed answering, and they would no longer wait.

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**I hope you all liked it. The next chapter will be up as soon as I can manage, but I have midterms. :-( But I'll try to be as quick as possible. Please review!!!!!!!!**


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